


A Quick Break

by Arnie



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Gen, Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 15:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnie/pseuds/Arnie
Summary: Garrison gets away from it all.





	A Quick Break

Craig rested his manly chin in his hand and gazed with his beautiful hazel eyes towards the turbulent sea. He was glad to be taking a break from He Knew What. He wasn't even going to think the word, but it began with a 'W', ended with an 'R' and had an 'A' in the middle.

He sighed, and watched as the waves foamed back and forth as the tide came in. Sometimes, it was hard to keep going, to keep control - to not let his men know how near to disaster they came at times. The Brass were constantly on his back about his men's lack of respect for military protocol, but what did they expect? The guys were cons, putting their lives on the line to help fight the....

Well, Craig wasn't going to think about that. Not today. And, he decided, he'd stood there long enough watching the waves.

Stretching, he failed to notice how his tight shirt accentuated his abs, and showed off his broad shoulders and finely sculpted chest, but he did notice the local women gazing his way. Pondering on that as he made his way back to the tiny inn he was stopping at for a few nights, he guessed that they weren't used to strangers.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bartleby."

Mrs. Bartleby, the landlord's wife, was enthusiastic in her reply and kept him standing in the bar for at least fifteen minutes as she raved about the weather, the scenery, and how she hoped he was having a good time.

Craig couldn't help but think that the poor lady was of a nervous disposition. She seemed to be unable to hold his gaze, instead her eyes wandered up and down, frequently lingering on the 'down'. Maybe she, like the ladies in the village, was unused to strangers.

Escaping at last, he made his way up the stairs. He noticed that Mrs. Bartleby and her cleaning lady remained at the bottom of the stairs, loudly discussing the inferiority of the latest cleaning polish and how things were of much better quality before the...well, you know.

As he went into his room and shut the door, Craig wondered if Mrs. Bartleby was distrustful of him. Wherever he went in the inn, she was there...and not alone either. Most of the time, she had several other ladies with her, usually discussing cleaning products.

Shaking his head, Craig stripped off his shirt and went into the bathroom to have a wash. As he sponged himself down, water dripping off his manly chest and drops of it soaking into his trousers, he reflected that maybe he was making too much of it. It could be that Mrs. Bartleby and the local ladies were curious about the American officer who was taking a break in their small, out of the way, village.

As he towelled himself off, briskly scrubbing at his skin, he nodded. That was all it was, he was sure of it.

Putting on a clean shirt, he fastened it up, and made his way towards the stairs. It was almost time for dinner, and Mrs. Bartleby hated for anyone to be late.

As Craig stepped on the first step, he felt his foot slip underneath him, and he fell, tumbling down the stairs like a puppet with its strings cut. Crashing to a halt at the bottom, he managed to sit up, holding up one hand to reassure Mrs. Bartleby that he was unhurt.

"Oh, Lieutenant Garrison, I've told Ivy time an' time again not to leave the soap on the stairs. It's lethal, positively lethal."

The hand wasn't enough, so he managed to catch his breath enough to say, "Now, just take it easy. It was an accident, that's all. I'll be fine."

"Aye, Lieutenant."

Craig looked up into Mr. Bartleby's concerned face, feeling a little dazed. When had he arrived?

"You'll be just fine. The wife's sent Ivy for the doctor - and it's to be 'oped she doesn't muck that up! Now, let's just get you up and into the parlour."

With Mrs. Bartleby back and fussing around, Craig was helped up and all but carried into the parlour and settled in place on the surprisingly comfortable couch.

"Now, you just sit there, lad...Lieutenant, I should say, and the doctor'll 'ave you right as rain in a jiffy."

As any attempt to move brought shooting pains as various parts of his body began to complain about the hardness of the stairs, Craig complied and lay back. He was still a little confused as to how Mr. Bartleby had taken the place of his wife - he was sure he'd only closed his eyes for a second.

Leaning his head on the cushion kindly provided by the concerned Mrs. Bartleby, he closed his eyes again and mentally told his body to knock it off.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant?"

Craig opened his eyes and gazed up at the doctor, startled to feel a cool cloth on his forehead. Had he fallen asleep?

"Ah, you're back with us. That's good. Now just follow my finger with your eyes, don't move your head."

The finger moved back and forth and Craig followed it, then blinked as his eyes refused to focus.

"All right, son, don't fret on it." The doctor patted him on the shoulder, and moved away to talk to Mr. Bartleby. "Just keep him quiet for a bit, and keep an eye on him. That ankle should heal nicely in a few days, it's not that bad a sprain. His concussion should be fine too. Just let him rest up a bit on the couch, then, when he's feeling a little less woozy, get him up to bed. I'll call by before you shut tonight to see how he's doing."

"Don't you worry, Doctor!" Mrs. Bartleby said. "We'll take as much care of 'im as if 'e was one of our own."

"I knew I could depend on you, Mrs. Bartleby. I know you and your husband will look after him all right."

"That we will," Mr. Bartleby's deep voice chimed in. "'E's a good lad, even if 'e is a bit accident-prone, like."

Craig frowned, feeling rather indignant at the charge. Ivy was the one who'd left the soap on the stairs!

"I'm sure of it. He might not want to eat for a while, but when he does, just give him something light - some of your excellent broth would do it, Mrs. Bartleby. That'll rest easy on his stomach."

"I'll make some right away, Doctor!"

"Perfect! Well, I'll see you both tonight then." His hand patted Craig on the shoulder again. "Just take it easy, Lieutenant. I'm leaving you in good hands." And with that he was gone.

As Mrs. Bartleby fussed around him, Craig lay back. While he wouldn't have chosen to fall down the stairs, it was quite nice, for once, to not be the one in charge...to not have to worry, and think, and plan, and scheme.

"Aye, love, leave the poor lad alone. 'E needs to rest for bit." Mr. Bartleby's huge hand patted his shoulder in the same paternal manner the doctor's had done. "I'll be out in the bar, lad, and the missus will be in the kitchen, makin' that broth for you. We'll pop back in in an hour or so, to make sure you're doin' okay, but just call if you need anything."

"Thank you, I will." A fresh cloth was laid across his brow, then the door shut, leaving him alone. Craig sighed and relaxed. The throbbing in his ankle had faded to a dull ache, and his headache was fighting a losing battle with the coolness on his forehead. Turning his face into the cushion a little, he let the dull murmur of conversation in the bar lull him to sleep.

The end.


End file.
